World War I
by medcat
Summary: Holmes receives a telegram in Sussex...Warning: character death. Nothing graphic. Cross-posted to watsons woes LJ community; response to prompt #92 from 2nd community prompt table. Rated T for drama only.


_The very thin, elderly man with an aquiline nose sitting on a bench in the cemetery closed his eyes and fell into a reverie…he was remembering...he supposed he could call it the beginning of the end._

_**************************************************************************************  
_

It all started on a peaceful summer morning. I was tending to my beehives, when (much to my surprise) I saw my housekeeper coming up the path at a rather brisk pace.

"Mrs. Jones, whatever is the matter?"

"This came by messenger just now, Mr. Holmes. It is addressed to you so I brought it over in case it was something urgent." She drew a telegram from her apron pocket and handed it to me.

I tore the yellow envelope open with some trepidation…which was magnified a thousandfold as soon as I read the message. It was very brief:

DR WATSON VERY ILL. RECOMMEND YOU COME AT ONCE. DR WS MAUGHAM, SUPERINTENDENT.

My hand convulsively clenched on the slip of paper. So distraught was I that I did not even realize that Mrs. Jones was still standing next to me.

"Bad news, sir?" she inquired sympathetically.

"Yes," I managed to force an answer past the sudden obstruction in my throat. "I shall have to catch the next train out."

"I'll check the train schedule and start packing your valise, shall I, sir?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

The housekeeper bustled off down the path while I stood stock-still, clasping my hands together in a vain attempt to still their trembling…Watson once called me "a brain without a heart"; how I wished this were so! Perhaps then I would not feel like a band of steel were constricting my chest. It was several minutes before I could collect myself enough to start walking back toward my cottage.

**************************************************************************************

The scene that greeted me at the hospital was the worst I've ever seen…and I have seen many gruesome scenes throughout my years as a consulting detective.

The morgues were packed almost to the ceiling with bodies stacked one on top of another. The morticians worked day and night. You could never turn around without seeing a big red truck loaded with caskets for the train station so bodies could be sent home. As she led me to the ward where Watson was, the nurse said, "We have neither staff nor resources…" There were tears in her eyes. She collected herself with an effort and continued, "We haven't the time to treat them. We don't take temperatures; we don't even have time to check their blood pressure. We give them a little hot whisky toddy; that's about all we have time to do...He's in here, sir," she continued, opening the door.

Watson was lying on a cot in the corner of a large ward. He appeared to be either dozing or unconscious. My eyes were burning…it was so hot and close in this room! I sat beside him and took his hand. There was blood around his mouth; I drew my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped it off gently. That seemed to have aroused him. His eyes slowly opened, and I was most discouraged to find them so glazed and weary.

"Holmes?" his voice was the merest whisper.

"Yes, my dear fellow. Don't try to talk; save your strength."

"No…need to tell you…" his words were punctuated by gasps for breath. "I was doing what I was meant to do…my only regret is leaving you alone. Promise me you'll…take care of yourself?"

"I—I promise," I managed to whisper back.

"Thank you." And with that, his eyes closed again.

****************************************************************************************

_The cemetery caretaker came up to the elderly gentleman seated on the bench. "Sir? I'm about to lock the gates." The gentleman did not answer or even give any sign of having heard._

"_Sir?" he repeated, more loudly this time. "You must leave; I am locking up for the night."_

_Still no response…something about the man's pose struck the caretaker as unnatural. He hesitantly touched the man's hand and drew back in shock; it was ice-cold._

"_I hope you shall meet your friend in the other world, wherever and whatever it is…I know you missed him badly these five years," he said quietly. Then he straightened up and went to inform the authorities so arrangements could be made._


End file.
